


Technicalities

by Dragonbat



Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-24
Updated: 2010-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonbat/pseuds/Dragonbat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joren faces his Ordeal... and some unpleasant truths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Technicalities

**Author's Note:**

> All characters and locales owned by Tamora Pierce. No financial remuneration is being received for this work of fanfiction.
> 
> Written for the Smackdown competition at Goldenlake (2010).

**Technicalities**

The chamber door closed behind him. Joren of Stone Mountain squared his shoulders, smoothed his undyed cotton tunic, and took a careful step forward. Nobody knew what form one's Ordeal might take. He felt prepared, to be sure… but how could one truly be prepared for the unknown? He clenched his teeth. Life was so much easier when one stuck to the old familiar ways that had been in place for decades, if not centuries. The new, the unexpected, the unfamiliar… these upset the natural order. He took a step forward.

"Joren!" A voice shrilled. "Help us! Save us!" He sprang forward even as he heard young high voices chanting, "At the rear! At the rear!" His heart leaped into his throat. He remembered this from his second year as a page. _Spidrens._ But he hadn't been in the thick of it, then. He'd been chafing at the bit with a King's Own soldier holding him back. Now, though, he had his chance. The chamber was giving him the opportunity to be a hero! Seizing his moment for glory he dashed forward, barely noticing as plain transformed to forest. Before him, Merrick slashed futilely at a rope of webbing as he sobbed with rage and fear. Joren sliced through it as though it were butter, lifted the smaller boy, and shoved him out of range.

The spidren, annoyed, cast out another tendril from its spinnerets.

"Seaver! Get down!" All at once, Keladry pushed him aside. The webbing caught her instead. Keladry struggled, her eyes fixed on Joren's in mute supplication. Perhaps, if she had cried out, pleaded, acted like a female was supposed to, he might have moved forward. A knight was supposed to protect the weak and defenseless, after all. But Keladry of Mindelan was neither weak nor defenseless. She wasn't entitled to his protection. She could probably fight her way out of this.

The spidren bit a chunk out of her thigh. Joren turned away.

The scene changed. He was standing beneath Balor's Needle watching Kel make her way down the outer stair. She had her mongrel dog on her back and her serving wench at her side. As he looked on, one of the stairs gave way. The wench shrieked as her lower half plunged into empty space. "Joren!" Kel screamed, "Save Lalasa! I can't hold onto her!"

He should. It was his duty as a knight. But then, protecting her servant was Keladry's duty, wasn't it? And if she could not… it was more proof that she was only a page because certain elements among the new nobility meant her to succeed. Better she realize for herself that she was unworthy of a knight's shield.

He spun on his heal and walked away as Lalasa plummeted, screaming, to the ground.

The scene shifted once more. This time, it wasn't a memory. The chamber was showing him something new...

It must have been a slaughter. The castle had been burned nearly to its foundations. All around him were the dead and the dying. His commander shouted to him to look for survivors. Joren nodded curtly and set about doing so.

When he shifted a heavy chunk of stone, he uncovered a small pocket of empty space. A gap-toothed boy of about eight years smiled blinking up at him. Joren was about to lift him free when he stopped. The boy was clad in the blue and grey of Fief Mindelan, with an owl-crest badge on his shoulder. This was _her_ home, _her_ family. His face hardened. They had nourished a cancer in their bosom. They threatened the old order. They were getting what they deserved. For the good of the realm, he shoved the stone back into place and stalked off.

All at once, he found himself standing on a dull, featureless plain. He wasn't alone, though. Another figure, a knight approached him in full armor. He recognized the Mindelan crest at once. His jaw set. So it would come down to this: the two of them alone at last. No more innocents for her to hide behind, for her to bring down with her carelessness, her foolishness, her feminine weaknesses and her unfeminine ways. Joren of Stone Mountain against Keladry of Mindelan, as he had always known it would be. The entire realm could not contain the both of them.

All at once, the armored figure's shoulders began to shake. Shrieks of mirth rang out from beneath the closed visor. Keladry, the Yamani Lump was _laughing_ at him. Joren almost shouted at her to stop, remembering just in time that he was not supposed to speak during his Ordeal.

"Your thoughts are true, Joren of Stone Mountain." Kel's voice was hollow and, in contrast to her laughter of a moment ago, nearly devoid of inflection. "The realm cannot contain you both. And what cannot be done… cannot be done."

A mailed gauntlet pushed back the visor and Joren gasped—the breath of air impossibly loud on the stillness of the plain. _That wasn't fair! It didn't count! He hadn't spoken a word! He was not going to fail on a technicality…_

"No, Joren of Stone Mountain," Kel continued. "A single technicality would not keep you from your knighthood. But there has been more than one… technicality." Her voice was heavy with irony. "You know the laws that govern your realm and your position, and you know the means to circumvent them when they become inconvenient. Had you sought to become a lawyer, you would have excelled."

Kel removed her helmet and Joren nearly screamed. The voice was still Kel's, though oddly flat—but the face! Yellow skin, pale lips, lidless eyes… the face was ageless and ancient. It was not human. It was… more. "Unfortunately," the voice changed, becoming drier and reedier, "you sought to become a knight. And yet, you still attach such importance to precedent and to… technicalities. You have found reasons not to aid those who would depend upon you, as a knight. You have let your hatred and your short-sightedness overshadow your talents. As for the object of your hatred…" the figure shrugged. "I have a purpose for her. And I will not allow you to thwart it. You say that the realm cannot contain you both. Your actions support your thoughts. So be it."

Joren's eyes grew wide. He cast about for a weapon, but he found himself unable to move. The figure approached him, one hand outstretched. Joren looked for a means to escape and found none. Even if a means would suggest itself, then what? Keladry was merely a symptom of the disease that was rotting away at the Realm from the inside. Better to die now than see the land that he loved fall into chaos. He looked the Personification of the Chamber in its cold, empty eyes, and waited for the blow to fall.


End file.
